The old woman with a half-scared air led the child out, and Mr. Graeme closed the door and turned back to the visitor, who looked much embarrassed.
“Take my cigars out of your pocket.”
The preacher's hand went involuntarily to his breast-pocket, and then came down.
“What! Your cigars out of my pocket? I have no cigars of yours, sir.” He spoke with slightly rising severity, as Mr. Graeme remained so calm.
“Oh, yes, you have. But no matter for the present. You had just as well leave them there for a moment. What are you doing, coming here all the time?”
“What am I doing?—Coming here? I am a minister of the Gawspel, sir, and I have a member of my congregation here, and I come to look after her welfare.”
“And to see that she gets recognition?”
“Suh?”—with a wince.
“And incidentally to rob me of my cigars, and her of her small savings”—pursued Mr. Graeme, calmly.
“Suh? Nor, suh, I has not done dat I will take my oath to it on the word of Almighty God.”